Every Day Thoughts November
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about the friendships between our favourite characters.
1. Nov 1

_A/N: For Intro, please see Every Day Thoughts January_

Every Day Thoughts November

_**Nov 1**_

**Friends Activity: Celebrate your healthy bodies and your friendship! Pick a time to walk (and talk), take an exercise class (and talk), or work out at the gym (and talk).**

Tim sniffed the rose carefully. It was nice to finally be able to smell things again after his nasty cold the week before.

Tony had decided that his Probie was spending far too much time inside, even if it was because of Tim's desire to keep warm and not worsen his symptoms. But Tony had been adamant and dragged him outside.

It could have been a lot worse. They were in a beautiful small park, not far from the Navy Yard. Despite the cold weather, a few hardy flowers were continuing to bloom. The solitary rose was definitely an oddity, but it somehow made it all the more precious.

The day was cold with clear skies, the perfect shade of blue for an autumnal afternoon. A gentle chilly wind made him want to head back inside.

But the view was so good. Surely a few more minutes wouldn't kill him.

Tony was up ahead, prancing around like a kid the day after Halloween. Although, when he considered it, there was a very good reason Tony was acting as though he was on a sugar high – Abby's parties tended to have that effect on people.

Tim smiled to himself. He couldn't think of a better place to be at this moment in time.


	2. Nov 2

_**Nov 2**_

**One friend in life is much, two are many, three are hardly possible. – Henry Brooks Adams**

Ziva smiled to herself as she hung up the phone. A lazy weekend at home could only be made better by a call from a friend.

It had surprised her just how quickly she had made friends in the US. She had no real friends in Israel, only colleagues and relatives. Being Mossad had taken over her life.

Yet she had not been in the States long before the team had taken her under their wing and changed everything she thought she knew. McGee had extended the hand of friendship first, helping her to adjust to a new life. Ducky had not been far behind, as generous and caring as he was.

Tony had not taken long to accept her, despite his fear of her skills. She chuckled as she recalled the look on his face the first time she had snuck up behind him. He had yet to learn and she still enjoyed scaring him.

Abby had refused to accept her for over a year, believing her to be a replacement for Kate. It had been odd, especially given how friendly the Goth was with everyone else. But when Gibbs had… left for Mexico, they had become close friends and their bond could not be broken now.

And then there was Gibbs. Not really a friend, yet not just a colleague either. They had trusted each other since she had pulled the trigger to kill Ari. She had always found it strangely amusing that Gibbs trusted her more than he trusted the rest of his team when she had been a member for less time.

She smiled again as she sat on her couch. So few people had as many good friends as she did.


	3. Nov 3

_**Nov 3**_

**To me, fair friend, you can never be old. – William Shakespeare, "Sonnet CIV"**

Fornell tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the elevator to rise to the correct floor. This was taking forever. Had someone tampered with it? Or, more likely, had Jethro's constant use of the emergency stop finally broken the darn thing?

He had better places to be than trapped in a metal cage at an agency at the bottom of the pecking order. Certain things called his attention right now; like the paperwork on his desk. Going home to see his daughter. A nice stiff drink.

The elevator finally shuddered to a halt at what Fornell hoped was the right floor. He stepped off, smelling Jethro's coffee from a distance and knowing the elevator had got at least one thing right today. Walking into the madness of the squad room, he glared at a few probies and found his way to the desk he needed.

"Come to steal my case, Tobias?" Jethro drawled.

Fornell glared at him. "Conference room," he ordered.

He caught the slightest flicker of surprise in Jethro's eyes before his friend nodded and followed him. The back elevator arrived more quickly than its companion at the front; the switch was flicked within seconds.

"Our case in no way, shape or form falls under FBI jurisdiction," Jethro warned.

"Don't care about the case," Fornell snapped.

Jethro turned to look at him. "Then what?"

It took him a few seconds to force out the words. "Emily said I'm old."

Jethro tried not to laugh but failed. Miserably.

"This isn't funny," Fornell growled.

"Ah, Tobias, we're a pair of old –"

Fornell cut him off with a look.

"You know what I mean. But as Tony always tells me when he puts his foot in it, you're only as old as you feel on the inside," Jethro finished.

Fornell smiled, nodding to himself. "We're not _that _old," he conceded.

"You up for putting superglue on Tony's keyboard?" Jethro checked.

"Of course."


	4. Nov 4

_**Nov 4**_

**A good thing that's even better done with a friend: going out for Sunday brunch.**

Ducky smiled at the person sitting across the table from him. This had all been her idea and he adored it.

Abigail had suggested meeting up for Sunday brunch, arguing it was better to spend it with a friend than alone. He couldn't agree more, especially when that friend was Abigail. While most of his friends at NCIS were able to freely visit him whenever they wished, he and Abby were pretty much chained to their domains. Although they could call one another, they were also incredibly busy.

It meant that they spent more time together away from work, but he had to admit he enjoyed it. They could celebrate their mutual loves of science and evidence at work, but away from it they could relax and forget about the horrible examples of mankind they came across every day.

Sundays were his favorite day of the week. Mother was happy at her bridge club, which was fortunately being held over at Margaret's today or he would be supervising. It was a day of rest, a day for catching up with friends.

Abigail smiled back at him as their food arrived. A late start to the morning, a delicious meal and time with a friend. He couldn't ask for more.


	5. Nov 5

_**Nov 5**_

**How can I enjoy spending time with anyone as much as you? No one else has quite your incredible ability to make me laugh until I cry.**

Gibbs stepped out of his car, annoyed it had taken so long to arrive. How many accidents could possibly take place on the fifteen minute drive between his house and Jenny's?

Rolling his eyes, he glanced at the door ahead. It had been a long day – a lack of cases had made time crawl by. Eventually he had allowed his impatient team to leave, before accepting Jenny's offer of a bourbon later. She had left before him, giving him time to finish up some paperwork.

And now he was here. Later than he would have liked, but presumably she had been caught up in the traffic jams too. He made his way to her front door, knocking loudly in case she was upstairs.

No one came.

A little alarmed but determined not to show it, he reached in his pocket and located the spare key. She didn't know he had it and he had no intention of telling her – she would only order him to hand it back over and he needed it for the moments he was concerned for her welfare.

Entering silently, he drew his gun and headed towards the noise coming from the study. And froze.

Jenny was not alone. Ziva and Abby were with her, and all of them were laughing so hard they were crying. He stared at them in disbelief.

They finally calmed down and noticed him, which only set them off again. He put his gun back in its holster and tried glaring at them, to no effect.

"Do I want to know what that was about?" he asked when they calmed down for a second time.

"You would not find it as amusing," Jenny smiled.

"We're just leaving, my silver-haired fox," Abby assured him. "Have a nice evening."

He watched as Abby and Ziva left together, before turning back to Jenny and raising his eyebrows.

"Seriously, don't ask," she urged, handing him a glass of bourbon. "I'm glad you made it."


	6. Nov 6

_**Nov 6**_

**For friendship is nothing else than a harmony of opinion on all things human and divine! – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Tony glared across at the Probie. "This is all your fault!" he hissed.

McGee glared back at him. "My fault? I told you that it was suicide!"

"Not loud enough!"

"What was I supposed to do? Get Abby to scream it in your ear?"

"That would have been a good plan," Tony whispered. "Because I'm a dead man walking."

McGee rolled his eyes; Tony fixed him with another good glare.

"Perhaps Ziva won't kill you," McIdiot suggested. "Perhaps she'll just –"

"Tear off a limb?" Tony offered. "Castrate me?"

"You shouldn't have put that butterfly in her desk drawer," McGee noted. "How did you know she's terrified of them anyway?"

"Lucky guess," Tony muttered under his breath. Over the last few months, he had tried spiders, snakes, beetles, woodlice, stick insects, various small birds, the odd reptile and even a very dead fish. He simply wanted to know if anything could scare their Mossad assassin.

Apparently something could.

"You should have warned me," he found himself repeating. "I mean, who knew Ziva could scream so loudly?"

"I think she gave Gibbs heart failure," McGee added. "I'm amazed Ducky and Abby didn't come running."

"We'll have to make sure she doesn't see a butterfly in the field or she'll alert every suspect in a five mile radius," Tony decided.

"Tony..." McGee warned.

Ziva reappeared in the squad room, murder in her eyes. Tony gulped. This was not going to end well for him.


	7. Nov 7

_**Nov 7**_

**A friend is a present you give yourself. – Robert Louis Stevenson**

Abby launched herself at Ziva the moment the Israeli stepped foot in her lab.

"Abby?" came the slightly concerned response.

The Goth broke off the hug and grinned happily. "I heard about the fight you got into with the suspect. And how you ended up kneeing him… somewhere painful."

Ziva joined in with a smirk of her own. "It was necessary so that we could bring him in."

"I guess you've been writing your official report of the incident," Abby replied. "Does Gibbs want evidence out of me? Or is this for your report?"

Ziva seemed confused for a moment. "Oh. I am not down here officially," she admitted. "I have a present for you."

"But it's not my birthday," Abby countered. "How sweet!"

"I saw something yesterday and knew it would be perfect for you," Ziva continued, pulling the something out of a bag she was holding.

"A collar!" Abby squealed.

"For Bert," Ziva amended.

Abby pulled the Israeli into another hug. "He'll love it," she almost sobbed. "It's perfect."

Ziva managed a few pats to the Goth's back before she let go. "Please do not cry, Abby," she pleaded. "If Gibbs walks in –"

"I will tell him what a wonderful person you are! It's adorable! He's been wanting a new collar for a few weeks."

"Then I am glad to have helped," Ziva smiled.

Abby returned the smile. It was sweet.


	8. Nov 8

_**Nov 8**_

**We celebrate our highs and rally from our lows. There's nothing we can't do together!**

Tim glanced up from his computer screen and was surprised to see the first streaks of daylight outside.

He had been hacking into the NSA since about 2000 the night before. Gibbs was convinced answers lay within their files, but there was no way the other agency would just open them up. Not without months in court.

Thus Tony and Ziva had been sent home to get some rest while he did all the hard work. Gibbs had stayed with him all night, leaving occasionally for coffee and keeping him supplied as well. It had made him feel less alone, when he hadn't been focused on his job at least.

Gibbs was absent now. He'd completed his task: found the necessary file, retrieved the information they needed and disappeared without leaving a trace. Now that he was more alert, he realized he really needed some food.

And the bathroom.

Returning to his desk, he was surprised to find something on it. Poking the paper bag gingerly, he tried to work out if this was some elaborate prank Tony was pulling on him or if he was simply hallucinating.

He was even more surprised to find breakfast inside it. His favorite as well.

"Eat it, McGee," Gibbs ordered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Tim smiled. "Thanks, boss."


	9. Nov 9

_**Nov 9**_

**A transgression your best friend can be forgiven for: loving the new dress you just bought so much that she buys one for herself.**

Jenny stared at herself in the mirror. New dress, check. Hair perfect, check. Shoes, MIA.

Drat. Next time Jethro dragged her into the field, she was either going to change her shoes or insist on knowing exactly which field they would be traversing. Trekking all over Rock Creek Park had destroyed her favorite pair.

Not that she had minded at the end of it, when he had asked her on a date – in his own way of course. At least he was making an effort and taking her to Palena rather than serving up takeout in his basement. Although she wouldn't mind either way, it was sweet.

She had treated herself to a new dress during a shopping trip with Ziva a week ago and now she had the perfect occasion to wear it. But she needed shoes…

She had just found a pair of heels that went very nicely with her dress when someone knocked on the front door. Cursing, she almost ran down the stairs. Jethro wasn't supposed to arrive for another hour!

But it was Ziva standing behind the door, dressed in a very familiar dress.

"Shalom," the Israeli greeted her. "I see you are all patioed out for your date tonight."

Jenny smiled, gesturing for her to come in. "It's decked," she informed her friend. "Is that…?"

"The same dress as you? I am sorry," Ziva continued. "But I thought you looked so good in it that I should buy one for myself."

"Who's the lucky man?" Jenny grinned.

Ziva went a little red. "Erm, a friend."

Jenny decided not to tease her further; she would rather Tony didn't hear about her own date. "So where are you two _friends_ going?" she smiled.


	10. Nov 10

_**Nov 10**_

**Low-carb, low-fat, zero calories: Thanks, friend, for being something I can indulge in without guilt!**

Tony grinned to himself as he continued to wolf down his pizza. Sometimes he needed his favorite: pepperoni, sausage and extra cheese.

Today had been a good day. Three bad guys caught, three confessions gained after a game of musical Interrogation rooms and a horrible case closed in time for an early night. Ziva hadn't killed him, the Probie had bowed to his infinite wisdom and he had managed to avoid headslaps.

Not to mention the very attractive witness he had interviewed and the phone number she had given him.

A hand snaked across his desk and threw the half of the pizza that was still in the box into the bin.

"Hey!" he protested.

"You should not be eating this rubbish," Ducky advised. "I did your blood test last week. Do you want to know what your cholesterol level was?"

"Okay?" he suggested.

Ducky tugged the current pizza slice out of his mouth and it joined its brothers in the bin. "Disturbingly high," was the answer. "You need to improve your diet."

"My diet is fine!" he pointed out. "I eat."

"The wrong things," Ducky admonished. "More vegetables, less junk."

"I work too many hours to cook," he whined.

"Ziva manages to cook every night," Ducky recalled. "Perhaps you should take a leaf out of her book."

Tony watched as Ducky walked towards the elevator. He stared at the remains of his dinner for a few moments before he had a brainwave. If Ziva cooked, he could steal some of her food…

"Hold the elevator!" he yelled.


	11. Nov 11

_**Nov 11**_

**There's no one else I'd rather spend my cell phone minutes on than you.**

Abby paced up and down her apartment, every now and then glancing across at her Caf-Pow supply to check she wasn't running as low as she seemed to think she was. Why wasn't he answering?

"Tony!" she screamed the moment someone picked up. "Are you okay? If you're in the hospital because of something a suspect did to you or something you did to yourself, I'll be right over although I can't guarantee my hearse will make it in one piece – perhaps it would be better for me to just get a cab and visit all the local hospitals –"

"How many Caf-Pows have you had?" Tony's voice was loud and clear.

"Are you okay?" she fretted.

"I'm fine," he reassured her. "Apart from tripping over my own feet to get to where I'd left my phone."

Abby gasped in horror. "I shouldn't have called! I hurt you!"

"You didn't hurt me," he promised. "Not unless you left that roller skate next to my couch."

Abby nodded to herself. "Not me," she smiled. "What are you doing?"

"Watching a Magnum marathon. Want me to come over?"

"You stay right where you are, Anthony DiNozzo!" she threatened. "I just wanted to talk anyway. And I've got free calls this weekend so I thought I'd call you."

"That's sweet, Abs."

"_I'm _sweet," she reminded him.

He laughed. "Can't argue with that."


	12. Nov 12

_**Nov 12**_

**My dearest friend, my counselor, my comforter and guide – My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy. – Mark Twain, **_**The Adventures of Tom Sawyer**_

Ducky sighed as he poured two mugs of steaming tea.

It had become a tradition after a tough case to spend some time with Ziva in Autopsy. She usually struggled to open up, but peppermint tea seemed to do the trick. As did sitting in Autopsy with however many guests present in body although perhaps not in spirit.

It was a pleasant way to unwind from all the stress and effort of catching a killer. And seeing as this one had bludgeoned his entire family, including all the family pets, to death with a shovel, Jethro had pushed his team to their limits.

He had always felt that relaxation was important. No one could run forever. Even Jethro took breaks to build his boat, a hobby Ducky heartily approved of, however much he patched his friend up after he'd drunk a little too much and then decided to work in his basement.

Ziva smiled as he handed over the mug. "_Toda_, Ducky."

"You are very welcome, my dear," he assured her. "I heard you and our killer ended up tussling."

"It was nothing," she replied.

"Did he injure you?" he checked. She had a track record for ignoring her injuries.

"I smacked him over the head with the shovel in question," she noted. "He did not have a chance to fight back."

He smiled, quietly filing away yet more evidence that she had no problem in using violence against her enemies. "I am sure it made Jethro happy."

"Scared Tony and McGee," she grinned.

He laughed. "They never learn, do they?"


	13. Nov 13

_**Nov 13**_

**True wealth cannot be measured in material objects of worldly possessions, but in the depth and quality of your friendships.**

Fornell stormed into the squad room, his face lit up in anger. A piece of paper in his hand, he marched to Jethro's desk.

"Where is he?" he demanded of the team the moment he noticed the empty desk.

"Coffee run," Tony answered. "What's the paper? Come to steal our case?"

"I'll steal more than your case if I don't talk to him, DiNutso," Fornell warned. "Get him back here now."

"Someone accusing you of murder again?" McGee checked.

"I'll commit murder soon!" Fornell growled.

"Having a bad day?" Ziva noted.

Fornell was saved from having to answer the stupid observation when Gibbs appeared from the back elevator. "What seems to be the problem?" his old friend teased.

"Conference room, now!" the FBI agent demanded.

Gibbs rolled his eyes but led them to the front elevator. Once safely inside, the emergency stop was pulled and they turned to each other.

"That conniving little –"

"What did Diane do this time?"

Fornell took several deep breaths to calm himself. "She's trying to cut my access to Emily. Only because she's found a new man."

Gibbs sighed. "Know a few good lawyers," he offered. "Got the name of the new boyfriend?"

"Think we should pay him a visit?" Fornell's eyes lit up.

"A _friendly_ visit," Gibbs added. "Just to let him know what he's in for."

Fornell flicked the emergency switch so the elevator started moving again. "No time like the present," he grinned.


	14. Nov 14

_**Nov 14**_

**O my friend, you have always been readier to scrutinize your own heart than your neighbor's. – Walter Savage Landor, **_**Imaginary Conversations**_

Ducky did not bother to glance up as the doors to Autopsy swished open. "Jethro, I told you at the crime scene that it would take me at least two hours to give you any answers –"

"Erm, Agent Gibbs isn't here," he heard Mr. Palmer stutter.

Glancing up, he recognized his assistant in the doorway rather than his old friend. "Where have you been?" he demanded, exasperated.

"You sent me to Legal," Mr. Palmer reminded him.

"An hour ago!" he pointed out. "It was an autopsy report that Agent Lee requested."

"I, erm… got a little lost?"

Ducky shook his head in frustration. Sometimes he really wondered about his assistant. "Come here," he ordered.

Mr. Palmer slowly made his way over. "Is this Petty Officer Watson?" he asked.

Ducky nodded. "The one and only person to die in our jurisdiction this week," he noted. "Take a look at this."

"His heart's rather large," the assistant noticed. "Well, it's larger than I would expect."

"Precisely!" Ducky smiled, his previous bad mood forgotten. "Which means?"

"Possible underlying medical condition," Mr. Palmer concluded. "Drugs. Poison. Or it could mean nothing – an average simply means some people will have larger hearts and some smaller."

"So what should be our next course of action?"

"A tox screen," came the reply.

Ducky beamed with pride. His assistant might be a little ditsy, but he was going to be a fine medical examiner in his own right one of these days.


	15. Nov 15

_**Nov 15**_

**A friend is worth all the hazards we can run. – Edward Young, **_**Night Thoughts**_

Tony grinned across the squad room at Ziva, thankful she would have to negotiate both their desks if she decided to snap and kill him.

Not that it was likely to take much to make her snap…

He had enjoyed their day so far. Ziva had arrived late after her car had broken down, been yelled at by their fearless leader, had a serious computer problem that had ended when the whole thing caught alight, spilt berry Mango Madness all down her top and been interviewing a suspect with the flu when he had decided to vomit all over her.

She was in a foul mood. And he had only been trying to cheer her up by scribbling on her desk with Jenny's lipstick. He supposed it hadn't helped that he had got some on her orange beanie. At least the Director hadn't caught him in the act; he had placed the writing implement on Gibbs' desk in the hope she would blame him.

He looked up from his work again and was alarmed at her disappearance. It was never a good sign…

He felt the knife pressed to his throat before he knew where she was. "Ziva," he croaked.

"Tony," she replied.

"It was the Probie," he tried.

She pressed the knife closer to his throat.

"Okay, okay, it was me," he admitted.

She continued to threaten him for a moment longer, but eventually released him and stalked back to her own desk.

"_Zee-vah_?" he asked.

She glared at him.

"Have you ever shaved someone with a knife?"


	16. Nov 16

_**Nov 16**_

**Enhance your own spiritual growth by contributing to the growth of others.**

Tim smiled as he picked up the bowling ball. This had been a very good idea.

A few months ago, Abby had taken him bowling with the nuns and they had gotten along exceptionally well, especially since they had quickly recognized him as Thom E. Gemcity. He had enjoyed the attention and affection they had lavished on him, and so he had taken up every offer to bowl with them since.

This time, things were a little different. Usually he tagged along with Abby, but tonight she was at a forensics conference. He had spent the past week receiving various texts and emails basically along the lines of expressing her enjoyment and he was happy for her.

If it was possible, the nuns were fussing over him even more tonight, aware of his and Abby's close friendship and the effect her absence must be having on him.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Timothy?" Sister Rosita asked politely. "We bought along spare coffee just in case."

"No, thank you," he replied, wondering if they fussed over him as much as his grandmother did and deciding they didn't come close. Yet. "I had a coffee before I left work."

"And how did that go?" she continued. "Did you catch any criminals today?"

It took him a split second to decide that telling them about the sailor who had killed and then eaten his own daughter was probably not the best thing to bring up. They had the guy in custody with a full confession after Gibbs had glared at him for a good hour.

"A few," he answered.

She smiled at him. "Then you deserve a coffee," she ruled, hunting around for the Thermos flask.


	17. Nov 17

_**Nov 17**_

**Friendship, gift of heaven, delight of great souls; friendship which kings, so distinguished for ingratitude, are unhappy enough not to know. – Voltaire**

Gibbs sighed softly as he looked around at his team. Cold cases. He _hated_ cold cases.

His team had spent the morning expressing their own displeasure, which had involved arguments, death threats and the odd paper airplane crossing the squad room. Although he had clamped down on their behavior, he sympathized with them and had no intention of stopping their IM conversation.

He was monitoring it though, thankful Abby had the patience to teach him. He didn't mind his team complaining in private in a friendly manner, as long as they did their work.

Glaring at his computer screen in the vague hope he could scare it into giving him answers, he decided to take a break. His coffee was pretty much full and still warm so there was no point in heading out on another coffee run.

Instead, he turned his eyes up to the catwalk where he knew the Director was standing. He had felt her eyes on him for a while but knew she had nothing to say to him. She was just watching.

The catwalk was a lonely place. She was alone up there, a pile of case reports in her hands. He had no sympathy for her; she had made her bed and could sleep in it. She had walked away from him, away from their partnership, relationship, _friendship_. If she wanted anything from him, she would have to make the first move.

In the shadows of the catwalk, she caught his eye. He stared defiantly at her, not ashamed or embarrassed to be caught looking. She lowered her gaze first, drawing the case files closer to her before walking away in the direction of her office.

He watched her go, glaring at the back of her head. He had other things to deal with.


	18. Nov 18

_**Nov 18**_

**True friends have no solitary joy or sorrow. – William Ellery Channing**

Abby glared at Major Mass Spec, not happy with his current performance. Only yesterday she had been forced to call out an engineer to deal with his latest hissy fit. For some strange reason, every drug sample she had run through him for the last month had been wonderfully grotty, thus clogging up the columns.

And as though he was scared of becoming all clogged up again, Major Mass Spec was crawling this morning. Now was not the time for this.

Gibbs and his team were searching for a missing child. Everyone was running around as though the sky was about to fall on their heads. She understood – she really did – but she desperately needed the Major to get off his butt and start giving her answers.

Gibbs needed to know what the substance found in the little girl's room was. Abby had also snorted when she had been given a white powder to analyze. Did he not know how widely the contents could vary?

She sighed. She was under too much pressure and in a bad mood. All she wanted was this result and she could go home for the first time in three days. Sleeping on the floor was doing her back in – she had been working too hard for too long.

Suddenly, Major Mass Spec began to beep. Cautiously she examined the results, and a slow grin began to form on her face. She had her result! Unable to celebrate alone, she bounced across the lab and snatched Bert up into her arms. He farted his response.

"I did it!" she told him at the top of her lungs.

She was still dancing around the lab two minutes later when Gibbs appeared. "Abs," he growled.

"Talc." She answered his unspoken question. "Do you need anything else or can Bert and I go home?"


	19. Nov 19

_**Nov 19**_

**Life is nothing without friendship. – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Mike Franks took another gulp from his bottle and glanced up the beach. Sure enough, Probie was on his way.

The phone call had come through at the cantina yesterday; Probie, all tired out from his latest case, had some downtime and wished to spend it in the sun. Mike didn't mind – it meant he had company for a time. And while he enjoyed his time alone, his time to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, sometimes it was nice to have company.

He still needed that teak hot tub…

He took another sip of his drink and hunted round for his lighter. With a bit of luck, Probie would have bought a new pack of cigarettes for him before walking over.

Sometimes it saddened him to realize Probie was about the only friend he had left. But he had always put the quality of friends above the quantity. He still trusted Probie to watch his six and he would be there for him whenever he was needed.

Even if he made Probie pay for the plane tickets.

He smiled to himself as the man in question rounded the hut. "What the hell took you so long?" he growled. "Plane landed two hours ago."

"Jeez, Mike," Probie replied, holding his hands up in surrender. "Can't you just be happy to see me?"

"If you're crashing here for a week, I got a whole lot of jobs for you," Mike warned.

They shared a fleeting grin, each knowing they enjoyed their time together.


	20. Nov 20

_**Nov 20**_

**A ho-hum activity that's really fun when done with a good friend; working out.**

Ziva smirked to herself as she jogged on the spot, waiting for her partner to catch up.

Tony's levels of physical fitness had appeared to drop over the last few weeks, so she had decided to make him work out with her. And the most effective way she knew to work out was to go for an early morning jog.

She had also discovered the most effective way of getting one Anthony DiNozzo out of bed that morning. It had involved breaking into his apartment at 0530, screaming in his ear and dropping ice cold water on his head. She had also stolen the covers and thrown some clothes at him. It had not taken him long to get the hint.

Eventually, Tony managed to reach her side and promptly stopped, attempting to catch his breath.

"We have not finished," she warned him.

His head popped up briefly. "You're kidding me!" he panted.

"We have only done four miles," she pointed out. "We have another four to go."

"We're halfway?!" This time he slumped to the sidewalk.

She rolled her eyes at his reaction. "We are doing an eight mile circuit. This is normal for me."

"Yeah, well you're not –" He caught himself before he finished the sentence.

"I'm not _what_?" she growled.

"Nothing," he protested.

"Get up," she ordered.

"Let me catch my breath," he replied.

"If you do not get up…" She allowed him to see her smirk. "We will be doing this every day for a month."

He jumped to his feet. "Lead on."


	21. Nov 21

_**Nov 21**_

**We've weathered hookups and breakups, flake-outs, smiles and frowns.  
****We've seen each other through all of life's ins, outs, up, and downs.**

Tim smiled as he handed another photo over to Abby. This had been a great idea.

After a boring case that had involved the two of them watching over a hundred hours of the most boring reality TV show ever – footage of a diner where everyone seemed to go to sob their hearts out, Abby had made the suggestion that they make a scrapbook together. Torn between the urge to hunt down some of the people on the footage and tell them that their lives weren't as bad as they thought they were and buying a massive box of tissues and crying the night away, he had decided to go along with her idea.

It was fun to see old pictures of himself and the team. Abby recorded just about everything that occurred in her life. Looking at a photo taken when he had first met her, they had giggled. His most recent NCIS official photograph had also appeared out of nowhere – Tim wasn't sure he wanted to ask where it had come from.

But there were photos showing everything – fights, tears, laughs, nights out. Gibbs headslapping Tony had made the scrapbook, as had Ducky and Ziva in deep conversation over a body.

It showed him how much their relationship – everyone's relationships – had survived through. How strong the bonds between them really were. Most people were unable to work with the same people every day without hating at least one person, but they made up all the time. They watched each other's backs and came through in one piece.

He smiled again as Abby waved a new photo under his nose. "What about this one?" she asked.


	22. Nov 22

_**Nov 22 – Jacob's birthday!**_

**I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Friendship"**

Gibbs strode off the elevator at 0600 sharp, coffee clutched in his hand. He hadn't had a wink of sleep with their new case; instead he had spent the night at the FBI trying to persuade someone to read them into a classified case file.

Without any luck.

His team had stayed behind in the squad room, each with various tasks to complete. He trusted them enough to know they would stay and not wander off the moment his back was turned, however much DiNozzo might try to persuade the others to give it a go.

He reached his team and paused. Now he wished he had a camera to hand.

They were all asleep at their desks. Tony's head was resting on his keyboard and Gibbs hoped McGee would get some teasing out of that later. Ziva had curled up like a cat in her chair and looked dead to the world. Between the two of them, it was hard to tell whose snoring was the loudest.

McGee was at his own desk, also asleep in his chair although not with the apparent ease of Ziva. How he was sleeping through the racket was unknown to Gibbs – he was surprised that the younger agent hadn't vanished to Abby's lab. His Goth was probably still awake though, wired on Caf-Pow.

He stared at the scene for a few moments longer, unwilling to wake them. But the sooner he got them up, the sooner they could finish the case and sleep in their own beds.

"Hey!" he yelled, hiding a smirk when they all woke with a jolt. "Report!"


	23. Nov 23

_**Nov 23**_

**Friendship's the wine of life. – Edward Young, **_**Night Thoughts**_

Jenny tried not to laugh as Gibbs glared at her. It wasn't as though she was trying to poison him.

And anyway, it was partly his fault. In the middle of an argument in her office the day before that she was fairly certain the entire squad room had heard word for word, he had accused her of being fixed in her ways, unable to change. At the time, she vaguely recalled yelling something including the words 'pot', 'kettle' and 'black'.

The man didn't seem to realize just how predictable he was. From spending time on his boat, drowning his sorrows in bourbon and giving his team headslaps, nothing had really changed in nine years. Thus she had made it her mission to try to effect a few changes.

Starting with their usual tipple. He had showed up out of the blue at midnight, as usual, barging into her house without even bothering to greet her. However much it disturbed her that she was used to this, she rolled her eyes and decided to begin somewhere smaller.

With wine.

He looked as though the drink in his hand would magically turn into bourbon if he glared at it enough.

"Drink it," she ordered. "It's alcohol."

He turned his glare back to her. "It's _wine_, Jen," he moaned.

"If you disturb me while I'm drinking it, you can drink it too," she replied.

"You drink bourbon while you work," he reminded her.

"Not always." She smiled sweetly, deciding not to mention that she had given up on work an hour ago and had been reading a trashy romance novel instead.

He glared at her once more before taking a sip. Her smile widened. Baby steps. Baby steps.


	24. Nov 24

_**Nov 24**_

**A true friend is someone who never stops believing in your dreams, even if you have.**

Ducky looked up as the doors to Autopsy swished open. To his surprise, Jethro wasn't the one to disturb his day.

Timothy stood in the doorway, looking very depressed. Ducky had a funny feeling as to why this was – Abigail had been down earlier threatening to kill Lyndi Crawshaw, Timothy's editor. Apparently Ms Crawshaw wanted a new chapter of the next Gemcity novel by the end of the month; an impossible deadline given the current caseload.

All this meant that poor Timothy was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Ducky wasn't sure which one of these was Jethro, but suspected he would be more unforgiving than the editor. Yet Timothy did not have the strength to stand up to either of his two bosses.

It was definitely an awkward position to be in.

Ducky smiled as Timothy slowly made his way in, almost as if he was not welcome. The doctor decided to speak first as it looked as though the younger man had lost the use of his tongue.

"Timothy, my dear lad!" he greeted him enthusiastically. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Timothy looked so lost that he decided to take pity on him.

"Sit down," he ordered, wandering over to his teapot and starting the familiar routine.

As the tea was being prepared, Timothy decided to speak up. "I don't know why I bother writing any more, Ducky."

The doctor handed him a mug of steaming tea and wisely said nothing.

"I mean, back when I started, I wrote for myself, for my own pleasure. And now people pick over every word I use as though there's a hidden meaning behind it, and they demand even more out of me. I'm tired, I'm stressed and I don't know why I bother."

Ducky smiled softly when it was clear Timothy had finished his rant. "Why did you start writing?" he asked quietly.

"Because I enjoyed it," the agent smiled. "Because I had all these ideas in my head and I wanted to get them written down."

"No one is forcing you to write except Ms Crawshaw," Ducky pointed out. "If you want to stop, that is your decision. But if you still want to write, if you want to get back your enjoyment…" He paused.

Timothy leant forwards. "What are you suggesting?"

Ducky lowered his voice. "I'm sure Ziva would love to meet your editor."

Their laughter filled Autopsy and the tension lifted.


	25. Nov 25

_**Nov 25**_

**A friend is a cheerleader when you win, a counselor when you lose, a confidante when you need to share, and a clown when you're feeling blue.**

Tim sighed as he looked at the huge pile of paperwork in front of him. He wasn't in the mood for this. A horrible cold had sent him home for the past week on Gibbs' orders. He still wasn't feeling normal, but the worst of it had passed and he needed to catch up on the paperwork before Tony messed it up.

It was Sunday; the squad room mercifully empty. Tim wasn't sure he would have been able to work if anyone else was present. While Abby's hugs were amazing, they sucked the life out of him on a normal day and he wasn't sure he would survive one today. He didn't need people inquiring about his health; he needed to work.

The endless amount of pages were making the words start to swim; his eyes wanted a rest and he couldn't see the end yet. He sighed again and closed his eyes…

He woke with a jolt, amazed he had been able to sleep after the amount of time he'd spent in bed recently. Except he wasn't alone any more. Tony was perched on his desk, staring at him.

"What?" Tim croaked.

"You look worse than I did when I had the plague," Tony noted. "Ducky really cleared you to return to work?"

"It was just a cold," Tim protested.

"Long as you don't give it to me, I don't care what it was," Tony replied.

Tim tried to glare at Tony and failed miserably. Tony rolled his eyes, jumped off the desk and headed for Gibbs'. Tim looked on in shock as Tony climbed onto the untouchable desk. "Get down!" he hissed.

Tony turned around to look at him. "Why?" he questioned. "Gibbs isn't here,"

And then he began to dance around like a man possessed. Tim's initial shock turned into sniggers.

Tony continued to dance, clearly happy with Tim's reaction. Suddenly he froze before turning around slowly.

Gibbs stood on the other side of the divider.

Tim's sniggers turned into belly-laughs. This was priceless.


	26. Nov 26

_**Nov 26**_

**A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud. – Ralph Waldo Emerson**

Palmer stared at the lifeless body on the table in front of him. He couldn't say he had seen anything like _this_ before.

PFC Blain lay dead on the metal, an arrow protruding from his right eye. There were no other visible signs of injury. Tony had muttered something about the likelihood of him having to check with every archery club at the crime scene and Palmer privately agreed. This was unusual.

He came across a lot of weird things in this job. People drowned in restroom toilets, buried alive, meat puzzles… even a French-fried poodle. Not to mention the marine who had woken up on Ducky's table. But an arrow through the eye?

It was one for the books.

"This reminds me of a very old case," Ducky mused aloud.

Palmer couldn't believe it. "You've seen this before?" he questioned.

Ducky smiled softly. "I'm not _that_ old," he replied. "The Battle of Hastings, 1066." He rose to his full height. "King Harold of England had two threats to his new reign in 1066 – Harold Hardrada and William of Normandy. Hardrada invaded first, in the north of England."

Palmer listened with rapt attention.

"King Harold won the battle, but his army was tired. And then news reached them that William had invaded the south, landing in Bulverhythe. The king and his army marched across the entire country to deal with the emerging threat. The two armies met at the place six miles outside Hastings, in a town now called Battle. Nice little place…"

Palmer waited patiently for Ducky to return to the topic, using the time to examine the odd wound again.

"Regardless, William's troops were fresh while Harold's were injured and tired. William won the battle and had himself crowned at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day, 1066. Now Harold died, and there are two theories as to his cause of death. Do you know of the Bayeux Tapestry, Mr. Palmer?"

He thought on his feet. "No."

"William had it commissioned to show all these events. Under the words, 'Harold rex', there is an image of a man with an arrow through his eye. Scholars argue over whether this is Harold of a slip of the needle – the arrow could very well be an axe in his hand. The next image shows a man cut down by a Norman on horseback. Is this Harold?"

Palmer smiled. "That was very interesting, doctor."

Ducky continued to smile. "Now, PFC Blain here…"

* * *

_A/N: Heard the whole story a little too often as a child... and Battle really is a nice little place, excusing the constant traffic chaos._


	27. Nov 27

_**Nov 27**_

**If you would be loved, love and be lovable. – Benjamin Franklin**

Abby clapped her hands together with glee as her favorite song came over her sound system. What a perfect way to end the day.

She had woken up early, much to her surprise, so had used the time wisely to complete the odd chore she had to do. It had left her with plenty of time to do whatever she wanted.

A lack of physical evidence had given her the opportunity to spend a rare day in the squad room. Tony had kept her amused at first; the two of them engaging in games of footsie under his desk, stealing food from each other and having food fights whenever _el jefe _left for coffee.

She had enjoyed spending time with Ziva, engulfing the Israeli in hugs and joining in with various threats to Tony's health. She had particularly enjoyed the constant discussions about the exact relationship between Mommy and Daddy despite Gibbs' best efforts to stop them. Her silver-haired fox didn't scare her though.

The afternoon had been spent helping Timmy hack into the CIA at the behest of Gibbs. They had shared the keyboard, passing it back and forward between them. Working in a comfortable silence, they had completed their task in less time than they had expected. _El jefe _had even given them a brief smile.

It had also been fun to spend more time with Gibbs. He had bought her Caf-Pows whenever she had been running low, allowed her to steal his coffees – though that was probably because she couldn't drink his swill and usually handed it straight back – and even permitted her hugs. They had even spent a good portion of the afternoon communicating with their hands, much to the frustration of Tony. Abby liked the fact that signing was a part of her life that she could share with Gibbs; annoying Tony simply came as a bonus.

Overall it had been a good day and with Tony demanding that the team spent the evening at the cinema as payment for his 'torture' of a day, she did not plan to linger in the lab for long.


	28. Nov 28

_**Nov 28**_

**What you should be doing and what you are doing depends a lot on whether you're with friends.**

Tony scrunched up a piece of paper and threw it at McGee's head.

"Hey!" the Probie immediately protested.

"Why are you working, McSlave?" Tony asked.

"Because we have work to do." McGee made it sound as though he was talking to a four year old.

Tony shook his head. "Can you see Gibbs anywhere?"

Across from him, Ziva grinned. "Is this the reason you are so behind on your paperwork? Because you cannot work unless Gibbs is standing behind you, ready to give you a concussion?"

He glared at her. "Whereas you have turned into Miss Goodytwoshoes recently."

"She's right, Tony," McGoo weighed in. "Gibbs wants our reports before we go home tonight and you've barely started."

"That's not the point," Tony argued, trying desperately to control the discussion again. "We should be enjoying ourselves."

"Whilst we are at work?" Ziva shook her head. "Abby, perhaps. And Ducky. But not us."

"Not with Gibbs on our backs," McGoo added.

Tony shrugged. "But Gibbs isn't here!" he pointed out again. "We don't have to work."

Ziva rolled her eyes and reached for a paperclip. "I would prefer to leave here at a reasonable hour tonight."

"Does Ms David have a date?" Tony leered.

She smirked. "And what if I do?"

"Then I guess the McGeek and I will be dateless tonight," he replied.

The Probie shook his head. "Not me, Tony."

"Me and Gibbs?" Tony tried.

A headslap cut him off. "Only you, DiNozzo."


	29. No 29

_**Nov 29**_

**The firmest friendships have been formed in mutual adversity; as iron is most strongly united by the fiercest flame. – Charles Caleb Colton**

Ziva glanced across the squad room at the only other person as insane as her to work this late at night.

_Gibbs_.

She could understand why he was here though. There was nothing really for him to go home to, except possibly his boat. There would be no one to greet him, no one to ask him how his day had gone.

She had no one either. Although it was not the main reason she was staying – she wanted to catch up on her paperwork before it piled up unexpectedly and she ended up coming in on the weekend like Tony.

Though she did not usually admit it, she counted Gibbs as her friend. They had a bond formed in the strongest flame, something that could never be broken. One night in his basement, a night that she still relived in her nightmares, one shot that had made all the difference between them. The single shot that was the reason she worked in America now.

She knew nothing could tear them apart, not after what she had done. She might work for him now but she knew on some level he still considered her his equal. He trusted her judgment yet knew when to rein her in. He trusted her with his secrets; she had not breathed a word about Shannon and Kelly to anyone.

Glancing over at him again, she realized he had fallen asleep in his chair. She grinned, getting up from her chair silently and taking a photo of him with her phone. Just because they were friends did not mean she could not have a little fun.


	30. Nov 30

_**Nov 30**_

**Friends have the gift of making even the mundane seem like an adventure.**

Tim stood in the elevator, confused. "Abby, why are we doing this again?" he asked.

The Goth turned to glare at him, flicking the emergency stop and forcing the elevator to a halt. "Did you not listen to anything I said?" she shot back.

He turned his mind back. He recalled Gibbs sending him to help Abby, who was swamped in the evidence from their latest case and dangerously low on Caf-Pow – some idiot seemingly having bought all supplies in a twenty mile radius. Tony had suggested tying her down and sticking a caffeine IV into her arm, but Gibbs had administered a headslap and sent Tim down to keep her calm instead.

It definitely hadn't worked. Abby was lethargic and irritable. At his wit's end, Tim had given her his coffee only to watch as the caffeine kicked in. Perhaps it would have been better to let her detox completely.

Now she had decided they could go on an adventure. Luckily for him, this had turned out to be to the evidence garage and not to anywhere in the Navy Yard that could end with them being shot. He couldn't resist her when she pouted and she knew it.

"Maybe after this," he suggested, "We could go on an adventure to the squad room."

"And see Gibbs!" she squealed in delight, her previous anger at him forgotten. "I like that plan."

Tim made a mental note to leave her with Gibbs for as long as possible. Although there was always the chance Gibbs would blame a hyper Abby on him…


End file.
